


Like the Heat Before a Fire

by serendipitysnape



Series: In the Stillness of Memory [1]
Category: The Great Library Series - Rachel Caine
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, Trauma Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-16 17:57:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21040382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serendipitysnape/pseuds/serendipitysnape
Summary: Post - Sword and Pen One-Shots between Santi and the kidsIn which Christopher Wolfe kicks Niccolo Santi out of his bed until he can resolve the "Brightwell Situation" and Jess is absolutely no help to anyone whatsoever.Yes, there is blood and pain before there is comfort and fluff.





	1. Chapter 1

There are not many people who are capable of surprising the Lord Commander of the High Garda. Or at the very least live to tell the tale. Even in the confines of his own mind the title made Nic’s head spin. Lord Commander. Once upon a time Niccolo Santi would have cut off his own arm for a chance at that honorific, but tonight, it was just one more reminder of all that had been sacrificed in the name of the Great Library.

Nic stood atop the watchtower ramparts and studied the city that lay below, the city that now relied solely upon him for protection. His eyes caught on the flickering street lights and when he heard the watch call the early morning hour something settled inside of him. Nic knew these streets, and he understood what it took to keep them safe. If he was being honest with himself, his new role (fancy title non withstanding) was the easiest part of his life right now. War, Nic understood. Death, an unfortunate byproduct of war. Pain, a familiar and ever present shadow at Nic’s back.

As leader of the High Garda, the ability to command life and death with a word was an easy distraction from the fact that “Lord Commander” Santi was powerless in so many of the most important ways. Santi couldn’t take away Wolfe’s pain, although he was willing to spend the rest of his life trying. He didn’t have the slightest fucking clue about how to comfort the children, not with Morgan barely two weeks in the grave. And he certainly felt ill-equipped to address his own rage at the Brightwell situation. He and Chris had already exchanged a few unpleasant words about it over the past few days that had sounded a lot like, “Niccolo my love, either find a way to forgive the boy, or you’d best learn to enjoy sleeping alone until you do.” Nic didn’t like threats, but Christopher had put his foot down firmly on this point and Nic wasn’t even sure he really knew what the point truly was.

The truth is, although the anger that Nic carried still roiled beneath the surface of his skin, each day forward Nic could feel the weight of it lightening, changing and shifting to become something new. That’s why he was wandering around on this God-forsaken wall at the crack of dawn in the first place, praying that somehow he would figure out how to forgive Brightwell and earn his way back into the bed he and Chris shared.

It helped that at night, when the burden of fear was heaviest, he need only turn his head and inhale for the scent of Christopher to fill his nose and calm his fearful heart. But Christopher was not beside him on the rampart this evening, and Nic’s arms ached with the emptiness that came from not holding the other half of his heart. 

“Sir?”

_“Cazzo!”_ Nic’s gun was in his hands and trained on the owner of the voice before the rest of his brain caught up and registered who had decided to join him on the wall. A ghost, that’s who. “Dammit Brightwell!” His yell echoed off the surrounding stone and seemed to fill the space between them. Simmering anger bubbled dangerously beneath Nic’s skin, but his hands were steady as he forced himself to lower his swiftly-drawn weapon. He had to admit, no one had gotten the drop on Nic Santi in a long while – the boy was a fuckn shadow.

Another time, the soldier in Santi would have celebrated Brightwell’s stealth, would have clapped him on the back with a rueful smile and a proud grin. But on this night, when Santi was already choking on his inability to fix any of the brokenness that was a by-product of war, his body wanted blood for blood.

His hands twitched with the effort it took not to grasp Jess by the front of his shirt and throw him over the rampart on which they stood, but something made Santi take a breath and take a closer look before acting.

Jess wore a plain set of well-used clothes, the shirt far too thin for the cold morning air, but Santi couldn’t tell if it was the chill or something else that made him shiver. For the first time since he had known the boy, Santi could see that there were cracks in the mask Jess wore to hide his emotions. The Jess that stood before him was not the same cocky boy that had gambled on the life of Nic’s beloved and nearly lost.

“Do it.” Jess stared up at him, eyes wide and rimmed with red, still trembling. Santi didn’t recognize the boy looking back. “Please Sir.” The scar on his face and dusting of unshaven hair accented the wildness in his voice, but Santi could hear desperation in it and a hint of something more. The sound distracted Nic from the smell of whisky that hung on his breath when Jess exhaled.

Santi grabbed him by the arms tightly and let his fingers dig into the boy’s skin just hard enough to leave a bruise. “What are you blathering on about, Brightwell?” Jess grinned up at him and cocked his head to the left but it was more of a desperate, glassy-eyed grin then the arrogant one he probably intended. “Just hit me. I dare you.”

The words brought out emotions that Nic had pushed down and spent months ignoring. But there was no mistake, the little upstart was challenging him. On another day. At another time. Santi would have laughed and bought the boy a drink. But tonight, for Lord Commander Santi, the time for drinking had long passed. All he saw was red. Red, the color of the welts scattered between Christopher’s shoulder blades, and red for the still-healing lines that crisscrossed over the small of his back. Red for the blood that welled up when Chris bit his tongue hard enough to bleed, and red for the wine his love drank too much of when he wanted to forget.

Like the heat before a fire, Santi surged forward until Jess was pressed against the battlement, his head knocking back into the stone opening. But unlike the confrontation they’d had at the Spanish Embassy, Jess did not lay limp between his hands this time. He waited until Nic had him held fast and then he cleverly used his position as leverage and kicked up and out with both legs. The blow was a surprise, and it caught Nic in the stomach hard enough that for a moment he felt his midday meal rise in his throat. 

“You little shit.” Once the initial shock faded, Nic remembered that he had been a Captain of the High Garda for longer then the Brightwell boy had been alive. Obviously Jess cared so little for him, for Christopher, for the others, that somehow he had come tonight to pick a fight with Nic, to remind Nic of the pain he was owed. 

The words Nic had written in his own codex all those months ago streamed back into his head without censure, “If Christopher Wolfe comes broken out of that place—and he must come out of it—then I will take every bruise, every hurt, out on Jess Brightwell.” Santi howled in remembrance and rushed forward, catching Jess in the jaw with a blow hard enough to send teeth flying. But damnit the boy was fast. Jess darted to the left and Santi felt the familiar lust of battle wash over him. Finally, an outlet for his toxic, festering rage.

“That all you got, old man?” The boy was goading him, and Nic wasn’t sure why but he didn’t at all care. He let himself take the bait.

With one lunge Santi caught Jess by the shirt, the thin garment ripping when he used it to haul the boy close enough to kick his shins out from under him. He couldn’t stop Jess from taking Christopher again, but so help him, Niccolo could and would make the Brightwell boy pay for what he had done. Driving the tip of his boot into the thigh that Jess was grasping made the boy curl in on himself with pain, but it didn’t stop him from catching Nic on his bad arm and using the distraction to subtly get back up.

Jess was swaying on his feet now, and his breath was coming in a deep gasping cough, but he still gave as good as he got. It wasn’t nearly enough. There was a reason Niccolo Santi had gained the title of Lord Commander and it wasn’t because he was easily bested in a fight. No, Nic didn’t see the boy that his lover called son. Nic didn’t see the blood that was running from his skin and mixing with the dust to darken the ground at their feet. Nic didn’t see that Jess wasn’t fighting back anymore, only struggling to stand after Nic might have very well broken a few of his ribs and possibly a finger or two. All Nic saw was red.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Nic didn’t see the boy that his lover called son. Nic didn’t see the blood that was running from his skin and mixing with the dust to darken the ground at their feet. Nic didn’t see that Jess wasn’t fighting back anymore, only struggling to stand after Nic might have very well broken a few of his ribs and possibly a finger or two. All Nic saw was red.”_

“Pathetic.” Jess spat the word out, flecks of blood and saliva exiting his swollen mouth along with the declaration. “Scholar Wolfe deserves better than you, _Captain._ You couldn’t even protect him from me let alone the Archivist.”

Nic blinked. Once. Twice. Blood pooled in the tips of his twitching fingertips and Niccolo Santi felt something inside of him crack. The rage that he had kept so carefully bottled up and safely confined, the rage that sometimes slipped out from beneath his skin and hurt the ones he loved, this same rage burst out of him so swiftly that he didn’t even realize he had moved until Nic felt his hands wrap around warm flesh.

“Take it back.” Everything slowed and stilled, and Nic felt like a god of war and vengeance weighing the scales of justice. “Take it back before I kill you.” Somehow Nic was beyond hearing, beyond seeing, and his own words kept filling his mind, his heart, until he found himself suffocating under them. But the Brightwell boy’s lips were moving, he was still muttering something, still taunting him even as Nic’s hands were wrapped around his throat, squeezing, squeezing.

“No.” The boy that was barely-Jess was shaking beneath his hands now, shaking so much that Santi could barely keep hold of him now that his shirt was in tatters. “You haven’t had enough.” The words penetrated Santi’s red haze.

Lifting him with both hands, Nic howled like a wild, fever-driven animal. Moving them to the lower walls of the battlement, he levered Jess halfway out onto the stone and stopped. The top portion of the boy’s torso hung over the city that Nic was responsible to protect, and the other half trembled in Nic’s grasp as both of them gasped for breath.

“Do it.” Jess gasped out, his voice raspy from strain and lack of air. “Just kill me. I deserve it.” The boy in his arms twitched as though to curl in on himself and Santi hardened his heart and thought of his beloved. Maybe he should. Maybe killing the boy under his hands would free Santi of the pain, the rage, the shame he carried for all of the hurt Christopher had bore. But Jess kept speaking and twitching and gasping against him, his glassy eyes wide and wild, “I killed her. Its my fault she’s dead. Everything is my fault. I deserve to die.”

Nic’s world stopped. Turned upside down. Stopped again.

As he came back to himself it felt like everything happened all at once, but also somehow in slow motion. Jess. Morgan. Jess. The boy he held in his hands. Jess. The boy trembling against him. Jess. The boy he had beaten close to death and nearly tossed off the rampart. That boy was Jess. What had Nic said to him in the Serapeum not so long ago, as the two of them had stood next to the body of his dead brother? “You are not just Wolfe’s son you know.” And dammit. Nic had meant every word.

His stomach rolled.

Nic lifted Jess carefully, gently, with as much kindness he could manage and moved both of them away from the dangerous edge of the brick wall. He couldn’t make a mistake now, not when Nic had made so many before. Not when such a mistake could lead to the death of one of the most brilliant men he had ever had the pleasure to know, the pleasure to love. Not now. He placed Jess gently on the floor and then immediately dragged himself back to the opening of the parapet. He gagged, and his stomach spasmed. Once, twice, again and again and again. Bile rose in Nic’s throat and spilled over as he choked on his own shame. Jess. My God, what had he done? What had he done? Nic had hurt him. He had let the boy goad him into a killing frenzy. He had let himself be driven by his deepest, ugliest pain. Nic knew what he himself was capable of, and still his inability to control his own grief had nearly killed the closest thing Nic had ever had to a son. Jess twitched, moaning slightly, curling in on himself in pain and Nic looked back, dragging himself over to the boy’s side.

Nic saw him now. Truly saw him.

Jess, the boy who was always so careful to portray a strong front to the world, a front without weakness, a lonely front. Jess, the boy who learned to rely on no one, who had just lost his first love and his twin all at once. Jess, the boy who was so starved for love and light and affection that he had come to seek Nic out, come to do his penance so that Nic might feel better, so that Nic might love Jess again. The words floated back to him, what had the boy said just moments ago, “you haven’t had enough.” Jess had meant Nic. Nic hadn’t had enough, hadn’t beaten him enough to be able to forgive Jess for the events that had led to Chris being imprisoned for a second time. Events that were not truly even his fault although Nic had placed all of the blame on the boy ever since Wolfe had been taken.

Nic reached out a hand that shook.

He smoothed the hair out of the boy’s eyes and Jess flinched away from his touch, shuddering when Nic gently turned him. Nic felt sick when he realized the extent of the boy’s injuries, bruising that was already red and purpling and would be swollen double by morning. He had done this. He had hurt a child. Nic was at a loss of what to do. Should he call for a medica? Should he take him and get help? Obviously he would resign from his post and turn himself in immediately after, but then Jess was speaking again, muttering something. Probably cursing your name, Nic thought to himself snidely. God knows he certainly deserved it.

“Please.” Jess gritted his teeth and stared up at him stubbornly, his voice a jagged whisper. “Please.” And God help him, Nic watched as big fat tears began to roll down the boys face. His shoulders were shaking from the effort to hold in the painful, silent sobs, and Nic could see that Jess had wrapped his hands around his own stomach to ward off the sting of any additional blows.

Nic tried to make his voice soft and comforting when he knelt down beside the boy, but he didn’t really do soft and comforting. Nic was more of the yell and clap on the back type. What was Jess even asking for? Nic’s mind was reeling as he agonized about what to do, what to say, and how he could possibly try to make this situation right when everything about it was so incredibly wrong. He needed Wolfe. Christopher would surely know what to do in a situation like this. He would know what Jess needed, would tend to his wounds and provide comfort and guidance. Chris would make Jess see that there was still love left for him in this world. But Christopher was not here, and Nic was alone.

The soldier in Santi knew how to deal with wounds of the flesh, but it was the heart wounds he was worried about. Another thought occurred to him, Jess was no fool. Jess could read people better than any of the kids, although Dario often made him work for those bragging rights. Jess knew Santi. Regardless of Nic’s own lack of self control, Jess would have known exactly what to say to push Nic past any self-imposed limits he might have set. Nic looked down at Jess from where he sat beside him and saw the moment Jess realized that he had been found out.

“You little idiot.” He leaned forward in a swift motion but Jess cried out and Nic pulled away at the sound. A rush of emotion filled Nic’s throat so quickly that he swallowed it down before any of his own tears could escape. Fear. Shame. Grief. How had he and Wolfe not seen how bad Jess had gotten? How had none of the other children not noticed that Jess had been courting death for days since Morgan’s passing? How had nobody seen that Jess was carrying the blame of every loss on his shoulders? Nic wasn’t sure of much of anything anymore, but he did know that he had a sudden and inexplicably overwhelming desire to hold Jess, and not let go.

Looking around, Santi was suddenly glad that they were alone on the rampart. The morning watch wouldn’t be along for a few more hours yet. He stood up, his heart aching as he watched Jess curl into a smaller ball on the floor at his feet. Where had he put his cloak down? His eyes landed on the folded pile of material, and he was immediately grateful that Wolf had insisted he wear it over his High Garda tunic so that he wouldn’t catch a chill from the morning air. Nic had taken it mostly because Chris had distracted him with a kiss while subtly tying it around his shoulders, but Nic was more than thankful to have it now.

Santi stared at the black fabric in his hands and back to the shivering boy at his feet. He was Lord Commander of the High Garda, he was not supposed to be afraid of anything. But somehow, in this moment, he was fucking terrified. 

In one smooth, swift motion Santi knelt down, scooped Jess into his arms, wrapped the cloak around him and wrestled the flailing boy into the corner alcove where they would both be obscured from public view. Jess kicked and thrashed, almost growling in an attempt to get away, but Nic held fast, allowing his knees to give out even as his back slid down against the cold stone.

“Shhhhhh. Shhhhhhhh.” Nic felt like he was soothing a wild thing, all sharp bony angles and wiry muscle in his hands. When had Jess gotten so thin? The boy was half on top of him and half pressed up against Nic’s chest, and he could feel Jess shaking in his effort not to cry. “Jess,” Nic swallowed, barely able to get the words out. “I’m sorry I hurt you. It’s inexcusable. I took my anger out on you. I shouldn’t have. But Jess, Christopher is safe, and the Wolf is dead.” Tears grew at the edge of Nic’s vision, but gathered and did not fall. “Jess, it wasn’t your fault.” Nic’s chest was vibrating, and he wondered if it was because his heart was purging itself of the fear and rage and grief it had carried since Chris had been taken from him for the second time. Looking down, he realized that he was vibrating because Jess was shaking so much that at first glance Nic thought he might be having a seizure. The boy whispered something. So soft that Nic leaned his ear down but he still couldn’t hear it. “Brightwell?” Nic said his name as both a question and an answer.

“I’m sorry.” The whisper grew louder until it became a choked sob, and Jess pulled back until he was staring up at Santi’s face, anguish written all over his skin. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Jess tried to curl in on himself again and get away, but Santi was too fast. He didn’t think, he just reached out and pulled Jess up against him until his head was tucked firmly under Santi’s chin. Somehow it was easier than he thought it would be.

“Listen to me now Brightwell.” Santi used his Captain voice. The voice that Jess was programmed to hear and obey. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You didn’t hurt Christopher, and you certainly did not kill Morgan. And you are not alone here in this world. Do you understand me?” Nic tightened his arms and Jess began whimpering against him. “Jess, you don’t have to hide yourself from me. It’s okay to grieve. I’m here. It’s safe now. You are not alone.”

During the hard nights, when it seemed impossible to keep the nightmares at bay, Santi often held Wolfe in these same arms, whispered the same soothing words, and prayed for his peace. Tonight, he held Jess the same way. “I know you’re scared. I know it hurts. You’re safe. I’m here. It’s gonna be okay.”

Jess made a quiet sound like a gasp, as though he was breathing for the first time since Morgan had died. When he exhaled, Santi felt the moment the dam broke and Jess gave in to the grief wrapped like a vice around his heart. Tears soaked the fabric of Santi’s tunic, and the boy in his arms shook with the strength of them, sob after sob erupted from his chest, as though once he had begun, he would not be able to stop until there was nothing left inside of him. Nic listened to the sound of his cries and felt a different sort of healing wash over him. _“Coraggio,”_ he whispered, his right hand lifting to smooth the sweat-soaked hair from Jess’s forehead. The riotous locks were pointing wildly in every direction and it made Nic ache inside. _“Ti sono vicino.”_

The words poured out of him as he rocked Jess back and forth, unwilling to let go of the boy who had somehow simultaneously wormed his way into Nic’s life – and Nic’s heart. _“Qui sarai al sicuro.”_ He murmured to him so softly that Nic wasn’t sure if he was comforting himself or Jess. _“Sono qui se hai bisogno di me. Sono qui per te."_

Eventually the tears stopped and Jess quieted. Nic contented himself with rubbing his hand over Jess’s back in slow circles. Up, down, around. Up, down, around. Nic could feel his left leg growing numb, and his right hip was digging into the wall at a difficult angle, but he didn’t want to move. The smaller hand that had wound itself tightly into Nic’s shirt and the sound of a soft barely-there snore made Nic wonder if this wasn’t the true reason why Christopher had kept insisting on the two of them adopting all of his errant postulants in the first place. The thought made Nic laugh quietly to himself, ducklings, all of them. It was obvious now that Nic would have to make more of an effort to spend some time with each of the other five. He grimaced, tightening his arms around Jess and re-adjusting the tunic to prevent him from getting a chill.

“Yes,” he agreed, more to himself than to the boy sleeping contentedly in his embrace, “You’re not just Wolfe’s son anymore, you know. I love you too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“I’m sorry,” Santi whispered. “I shouldn’t have taken it out on Jess. But seeing you like this—it rips me to pieces. You know that.” – Smoke and Iron _
> 
> _“Coraggio!”_ – Courage!  
_“Ti sono vicino.”_ – I am here, I am close to you.  
_“Qui sarai al sicuro.”_ – You’ll be safe here.  
_“Sono qui se hai bisogno di me. Sono qui per te.”_ – I am here if you need me. I’m here for you.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Yes,” Nic agreed, more to himself than to the boy sleeping contentedly in his embrace, “You’re not just Wolfe’s son anymore, you know. I love you, too.”_

Lord Commander Niccolo Santi woke up feeling decidedly better than he had in weeks, no, definitely months. His head felt clearer, lighter, and his heart didn’t ache quite as much as it had since they had lost Morgan. Santi took a quick stock of his body and noted that in addition to his usual aches and pains, his back was a bit more stiff then usual. Not to mention, the left side of his ass was numb all the way down to his ankle. He ran his tongue out over the curve of his lip and tasted blood, but that wasn’t unusual in the slightest. A loud groan escaped him as he twisted, attempting to stretch out any tight muscles, and his toes curled on reflex. Nic smiled, with any luck, maybe he could encourage Christopher to wake up and help him make his toes curl in other, more pleasurable ways. A warm weight on his chest shifted slightly and Nic’s smile widened into a grin. _“Buon giorno, amore mio!”_

Nic opened his eyes, but when he looked down, it was not Christopher Wolfe, but Jess Brightwell who was curled up against him. Nic was not lying in the bed he shared with his lover, no, he had somehow managed to fall asleep propped up against the cold stone wall with Jess still in his arms. The events of the previous night flooded back and Nic felt a wave of shame engulf him. It had been a close call, but he had very nearly killed Jess, and he knew it.

“Oh Nic.” The sharp, dry voice was all at once admonishment and absolution.

Nic raised glittering eyes to meet Christopher’s gaze where he stood, silhouetted against the morning sky. He saw love staring back at him, first and foremost, relief too, and he realized that he must have scared Chris when he hadn’t returned to their room all night. That hurt. Nic saw the flash of fear that Chris couldn’t hide as he strode towards Nic, and the anger and disappointment that Chris didn’t attempt to conceal. It was the disappointment that hurt Nic most of all. After everything his beloved had been through, Nic always seemed to be adding to his pain.

Chris took a few more steps in their direction, his black robe billowing behind him like wings. For a moment Nic let himself imagine that Chris was the angel of death, come to collect his soul, but a cool hand against his cheek pulled him from his thoughts.

“Niccolo.” One word. His name. Nic leaned into the long fingers that were caressing his face with soft, firm strokes. Wolfe was here now. He was here and together they would save Jess and fix this mess. 

The light of morning revealed many things that had been concealed by darkness the night before. Wolfe tugged Santi’s stiff fingers away from where they had been wrapped around Jess’s still form. He hadn’t let go all night. Not once. Together, Wolfe and Santi tried to shift Jess onto his back so they could examine his wounds, but when Wolfe pulled him off of Santi the boy whimpered, clinging tighter, and neither man had the heart to force him.

“What do we do now?” Nic whispered, in a voice that was far from unshaky and whole.

“Oh yes,” Chris said curtly, “now you ask for my help. After you’ve gone and beaten the boy half to death.” Nic had known that his lover was unhappy, but the carefully restrained, unspoken anger made him twitch. Wolfe didn’t miss a single motion. “Nic, you idiot,” Wolfe stroked Nic’s arm as he spoke, much more softly than before, “I am here now. Whatever we find, we’ll face it together.” Wolfe entwined his fingers with his and Nic grabbed them and hung on.

“Together.” He responded, still distracted by the warmth that was Jess still curled on his chest.

Wolfe gestured for Nic to stand up, and lift the Brightwell boy with him as he stretched out muscles and joints that creaked. Nic groaned and Chris nudged him with a smirk and raised eyebrow, “You’re getting old, my love.” The smile warmed Santi more than the weight of Jess in his arms. Together. They would do this together.

The walk to their quarters was a quick one. Though they saw a few people on their way, it must have been obvious that neither Wolfe nor Santi were in the mood to invite conversation. A few “Lord Commanders,” and head nods later and Nic found himself outside the door to the apartment that he and Chris shared.

Jess was still snoring lightly against him, and Nic found that the sound reminded him of a large purring cat. A part of him wondered when the last time the boy had slept, and the thought made his heart ache.

“Santi.” There was Wolfe’s voice again, directing him, guiding him into the room. Nic wasn’t sure how long he had been standing there, unable or if he was being completely honest, unwilling to set the boy down. But Nic could see that Christopher had set a pot of tea to boil, pulled out some medica supplies from their store, and laid a clean sheet out over their bed. It was obvious that the next logical step was to place Jess on the bed, but Nic knew that the boy certainly wouldn’t wake quietly, and certainly wouldn’t want to discuss the events of last night. He sighed. Christopher’s firm, insistent hands pushed him toward the clean sheets and Nic bent down to place Jess on their bed.

The boy moaned and tried to cling back to Nic, but Chris helped him detach Jess and lay him in the center of the sheet. Almost immediately the boy started to whimper and when Jess tried to burrow further under Nic’s cloak, Nic felt his heart clench again and it didn’t release until he heard Chris’s voice again.

“Nic.”

Together they reached forward and peeled off the cloak, and Nic steeled himself for the damage they might find beneath the black fabric. His hands were trembling as Nic saw the bruised, swollen flesh appear. Jess wore no shirt, for the ripped, stained cloth had fallen away with the cloak, but the red streaks ran from below his rib cage to curve around his lower back. Dried blood had trickled down his neck from where he had cracked his head against the wall, his arms bore Santi’s fingerprints from where he had grabbed the boy. The worst was the print on Jess’s thigh. The imprint of Santi’s High Garda boot against the boy’s skin was an image that would haunt him for many nights to come. 

Wolfe hissed loudly and took a step back from the bed. The sound made Santi grit his teeth as nausea rose again, he didn’t want to look at Wolfe, but he made himself meet his lover’s eyes. The man was trembling, and had one arm crossed over his own midsection.

“Oh Nic.” This exhalation was thick with pain of his own, remembered pain, old pain. Nic reached out to Christopher but the other man flinched away. “Sorry,” he said in a voice that was flat and dead. “I-I need a minute.”

Santi walked to the whistling tea pot and busied himself with pouring both of them a cup of tea. He didn’t much like the stuff, but mint tea had been one of the only things that had helped Wolfe with the nausea after Rome, and it had become a soothing habit for both of them during the nights when one or neither of them could sleep.

“Thank you,” the other man said when Nic pressed the warm cup into his hands. Nic merely nodded, pretending that he didn’t notice the way Christopher had twitched when their fingers had brushed. Chris inclined his head at the bed, and Nic noticed that another pair of eyes were watching them, Jess was awake.

“Don’t even think about it, Brightwell,” Wolfe narrowed his eyes and stepped forward even as the boy struggled to get up. How did he do that? Nic hadn’t even seen the boy move.

“I’m fine sir. I’ll be out of your hair in just a moment.” It was obvious that the wounds were painful, but Jess didn’t even wince when he sat up. Under different circumstances, Nic would have been impressed.

“Down, Brightwell.” The command, delivered in Christopher’s driest tone had the desired effect, and the boy lay back down against the sheets, although he still trembled slightly. Nic watched his lover pull his chair closer to the bed and lay the flat of his hand against Jess’s sweat-soaked forehead. “Now,” Wolfe said in a voice that would allow for no nonsense, “which of you would like to go first?” Neither Nic nor Jess made any moves to speak. Wolfe smiled, but it was a grim, feral smile that made Nic nervous. “Well then, Lord Commander Santi, do sit down before you fall down, and I will go first.” Nic obeyed. It wouldn’t do for him to be obstinate when Christopher was in this kind of mood.

Wolfe took a sip of tea before speaking, “I thought I had already made myself clear on this matter, but it appears as though both of you need another lesson.” He turned to Nic and looked at him, really looked at him until Nic felt warmth spread throughout the lower regions of his body. Down boy, Nic told his errant thoughts, now is not the time. Wolfe was still speaking, “My love, Jess made the best choice he could, the only possible choice at the time. And I survived it. We all survived.”

“Not Morgan.”

The choked voice came from the bed, where Jess stared up at them woefully. “If I had been a little faster, if I had figured out the riddle in time, if I had just been a little better, I could have saved her.”

“No.” Wolfe leaned over to place his hand on top of the fist that Jess was using to clench the bedsheets. “No, Brightwell. Nobody could have saved her.” Nic watched Chris stare off at something that only he could see, and a small, barely-there smile played over his face. “Morgan made her own choice, just like you, just like me, just like the rest of us. Morgan is free now, and you have to choose to continue to live and then keep choosing life every day.”

Nic felt wrung out and empty, as though all of his emotions had been spun and twisted and released. Christopher’s words made it ok for Nic to let go of the last of his pain. Jess was just a boy. Even if Jess had known a little of what Christopher had faced in Rome, he could never truly understand. He hadn’t been there when Nic had caught Chris in his arms, dragged them both stumbling into the bathroom. He hadn’t been there when Nic had washed the blood, the filth from Christopher, until both of their skin had been rubbed raw. He hadn’t been there when Nic had spent all night holding Chris in his arms, terrified that if he closed his eyes for even a minute, they would come and take him away again. The boy hadn’t been there when even the mint tea couldn’t keep the nausea down and memories sent Chris running to purge what little food he had managed to keep down while Nic held his hair back. No, the boy had no idea the true hell that Rome had been for both Chris and Nic, and how hard Nic had worked and still worked to keep Christopher safe. How could he know any of that? This, none of this was Jess’s fault. Nic saw that now, in a way he hadn’t before.

“Jess,” Nic turned to him and placed his hand over Wolfe’s. “I forgive you. But truly, there is nothing left to forgive. Now, it’s time to forgive yourself.” Jess made a little strangled noise deep in his throat, but when he closed his eyes, it was clear that he had already purged all of his tears last night in Nic’s arms. Nic looked over at Chris and saw pride staring back at him, yes, this was the right thing to do. 

Wolfe took another sip of tea before addressing the boy again, “Brightwell, I know how hard it is to let yourself be vulnerable. Believe me, I know. But you are safe here.” Chris paused and looked up at Nic. “Both of us are safe here.” Nic felt his heart flutter in his chest and he felt tears prick at the corner of his eyes. He needed a moment.

Standing up, Niccolo Santi turned away from the scene on the bed and walked to their front door to check the locks one more time. It was his responsibility to make sure all three steel bolts were secure, and he was far better at that then he was at sentimentality. 

Nic looked back just in time to see Christopher lean forward and whisper something in the boy’s ear. As he watched his lover smooth the hair back from Jess’s forehead and saw him bend down and press his lips to the boy’s skin, Nic knew in his gut that Jess would be ok. After all, a broken bone heals twice as strong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _And then it was just Wolfe and Santi._  
_“You’re not just Wolfe’s son, you know. I love you, too.”_  
_“I know that, sir. Thank you.”_  
_Perhaps it was worth surviving, after all._ – Sword and Pen

**Author's Note:**

> “Santi was coming for him, he felt it like the heat before a fire, and he knew he was out of time.” --Ash and Quill


End file.
